


War is Hell (but crushing is way more awkward)

by Jasper01



Series: Renegades! [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Boys Kissing, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is Extra, Dystopia, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Misunderstandings, Past Violence, Romance, Swearing, The war is offscreen for this fic, Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-10 04:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19491868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasper01/pseuds/Jasper01
Summary: Virgil Sanders is:a) On the run from the government.b) Ever so slightly traumatised.c) Completely and utterly 100% head over heels for Roman Kingsley.d) All of the above.(Bonus Question: Roman Kingsley is equally gone for Virgil Sanders. True/False)There is no mutual pining in this fic! These dorks like each other, and know they like each other. They are somewhat fuzzy on the details of /why/ they like each other, but they are working that out. Slowly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU I've had in my brain for over a year, and I've finally decided to get it down on paper.  
> Basically think "And they were ~~roommates!~~ on the run from a totalitarian government!"
> 
> I'm thinking that the boys are somewhere between eighteen and twenty years old here.  
> And I do already have the other two chapters of this fic hammered out. They just need a bit more tweaking, but do not worry about this remaining unfinished. It should be all up in short order.

The latest intel was something like this:  
There was a war on. Which hadn’t been news for some time really. (Actually it was an insurrection. Or possibly a rebellion. Uprising, maybe? Weaponised tedium definitely.) Revolutionaries this, military government that. Yada yada. The usual.  
Virgil was uncaffeinated, bored, and twitchy as all get out, which, again, old news. Rebel supply lines were always kinda fragile, with food and ammo and med supplies taking priority over everything else (hence his current state of uncaffeination). The boredom was due to the war- sorry, _insurrection,_ as explained above. And the twitchy was the side effect of growing up maimed regularly and wanted dead by the state for umpteen number of years. (“It’s not paranoia if I’m RIGHT, Logan.”)

Virgil was also completely and utterly a hundred percent head over heels for one Roman Kingsley. (Also old news. Virgil had been crushing on Roman for years.) It must’ve been one of those “opposites attract” kinda things, because Roman was everything Virgil wasn’t. He was beautiful. His hair fell in perfect waves from where a careless hand had swept it. His jawline was the kind of structured precision that engineers wept over. His lips were captivating, whether they be frowning in concentration or quirked in amusement or drawn back in a furious snarl. His eyes were piercing, discerning, sparkling, had actually been described as luminous even. (“Holy shit Pat I said that _one time_ and I was out of my mind on moonshine when I said it! DON’T YOU DARE TELL HIM!!!”) 

And when Roman laughed. Threw his head back _(damn look at his hair)_ closed his eyes _(he’s gorgeous, shit!)_ scrunched up his face _(SHIT)_ opened his mouth _(that neck!)_ and laughed _(oh shit shit shit shit)_ well, Virgil couldn’t be seen in public because he’d either be caught staring, or grinning stupidly, or blushing bright red, and that would all be fatally mortifying. 

Virgil’s latest appreciation of Roman hadn’t even gotten below Roman’s collarbone _(perfect, glorious, kill me now)_ or touched on Roman’s many non-physical attributes. _(He’s bold, friendly, kind, charismatic, witty, courageous, completely out of my league…)_  
Virgil was totally beyond salvage, and he knew it. Which was also old news from years ago and absolutely the most boring thing ever, when it wasn’t busy being the most terrifying thing ever (and oh hey that’s a lot like war- sorry, _police actions)._

Virgil, by comparison, was kinda bland honestly. Physically unremarkable, except for being somewhat gangly and blessed with too many elbows (don’t ask, Virgil just generally felt like he had too many elbows. “How are you today Virgil?” “How many elbows is the normal amount of elbows?” “Alrighty then.”). Virgil had put a lot of time and effort (and pain and exhaustion) into being as invisible as humanly possible. Put him in a room and he just kinda… faded into the walls. Stand him next to a plain wooden chair and the chair quickly became riveting by comparison. It was a useful survival skill that had saved Virgil’s life on more than one occasion, but it did make his crush on the attention attracting vortex that was Roman just that bit ludicrous. And sad.

Except. Except. Roman didn’t agree. Roman _insisted_ that Virgil was all manner of interesting, and clever, and funny, and gorgeous when he smirked and captivating when he listened to music _and oh shit Virge you’re wonderful and I am in so much trouble._ Which _should_ have been old news. Like, Roman had told Virgil he liked him ages ago. They’d been dating for months. They were so established as a couple that the rumour mill had completely moved on and nobody but their closest friends bothered to tease them anymore.   
_Roman likes me back._ The shine should have worn off it weeks ago. And yet every morning where Virgil woke and that was still true was just as quietly wondrous as the day before.   
Not that he was planning on verbalising that to anyone. _Ever._


	2. Chapter 2

This current day isn’t a good day by any stretch of the imagination, but hasn’t been bad enough yet to confirm its status as a Bad Day. (Bad Days are when Virgil can barely remember where he is; when his eyes see people that don’t exist anymore, and his ears give him deathly silence when they should have friendly chatter, and his nose fills with the smell of blood that was cleaned up years ago, and his scars are open and fresh not closed and fading, and his brain drowns him in what was instead of what is. Bad Days are when Virgil _needs_ to be left the hell alone and anyone who gets too close gets fucking stabbed.)   
Today he wakes shaking, but present for the most part. He knows where and when he is, can feel and see and hear and smell the things that mean safety, comfort, home _(soft threadbare quilting, bare bulb on the ceiling, ventilation system, bunk above him, dad’s jacket behind the door, military issue detergent, feet in the corridor outside)._ The thought of going outside his bunk doesn’t make him sweat or sob. His nerves are raw, but not screaming. People will be difficult, but then they usually are, and it’s nothing a healthy buffer zone and his best don’t-touch-me glare can’t handle.

_(There are good days. Days when his shoulders loosen, his words don’t stick in his throat, and his mind and body both remember that he is safe and loved. When he can feel that he is more than scar tissue held together with spite and frayed denim. When touching and being touched are welcome and without pain. Such good days, slowly, ever so slowly lengthening out to become good weeks, a good month even. He clutches them so very tightly. They are precious for their own sake, and as a shield for when days are not so good.)_

So he puts on his clothes and pulls on his boots and turns up his collar and flicks his hood down over his forehead and stalks along the passageway with what feels like literally every other person in creation. Turns out that today is one of those rare days where he does not have _nearly enough_ elbows. 

Virgil is passing the door to the general mess when, 

“Virgil!”

His head jolts up and finds the speaker and _Roman._ Oh it’s Roman. Waving and standing and he’s smiling and shining so bright, so beautiful. So very clearly obviously delighted to see Virgil, and how is this Virgil’s life? This right here, that smile turned his way, will never ever get old.

“Virgil! Hey Virge!”

He’s walking over with a bounce in his stride and a grin on his face and his hands are open, inviting, reaching, closer, too close. _Too close! Too fast!_ And Virgil flinches and hunches and steps back away from Roman. Roman’s smile dims and he halts immediately, two arms lengths and a whole world away. 

_The least you could do is actually face him. Look at him! You did that. He loves you. And you just crushed him. A decent person would at least give him the freedom to find someone he deserv-_

“Virgil?”

_Oh Roman._

“Virge love? Are you here?”

A moment. Then, a nod.

“That’s good! Can you look at me my love?”

A frantically shaking head and trying to get away and look as small as he possibly can-

“Okay! It’s okay! Virge you don’t have to! It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. I _promise_ you’re not in trouble.”

(The tide of people flows around them both, like rocks in a stream. A hum of life both distant and warm.)

“Please, please don’t be afraid of me.” Roman’s voice is so soft. And pleading.

Virgil finds that he can stand from his hunch, feels his shoulders roll back and the tension wash out of them. He still can’t look at Roman directly, but watching him from the corner of one eye is manageable.

Roman’s smile is back, as radiant as before and wonderfully warm. “Hi Virgil.”

And Virgil simply _cannot help_ the way his mouth curls and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Hi Virge. Love. Dearest. Sweetheart. Starlight. Gorgeous. Pumpkin.”

Virgil’s face heats and he can feel the blush on his skin as he bites his lip and ducks his head to try to withstand the full force of Roman’s unashamed delighted regard.

“Oh my darling, I swear my feet are nailed to the floor, but I would really like to kiss you.”

Virgil’s head snaps up, and Roman is still smiling, but there is an edge of _worryfearguilt_ to it that Virgil _hates_ instantly. (Roman wants things, but is terrified of pushing too hard. Virgil second guesses everything, wants to please, but is certain of failure. They are both too used to deception and doing without what they need. So they’ve promised each other honesty without negative consequences. They will be honest about what they want, and have to trust that the other will respond the same way. So Roman doesn’t bury his love because he fears he might frighten Virgil; so Virgil doesn’t panic over his boundaries because he fears he might anger Roman. This is a new thing between them, something they’ve talked about only recently, something they’re still trying to figure out.)

Virgil raises his eyebrows, and Roman shallows nervously, squares his shoulders, and steely determination joins the love and terror in his eyes.

“Virgil, I do want to kiss you, but the fact that you’re here and I’m here is honestly enough. It’s _everything,_ actually.”

And then he waits, and Virgil considers. Because truthfully? He _wants_ too. For all that the scared scarred part of him wants to punch Roman in the face, steal some rations and hide in the gantry above Hanger 4 and never _ever_ come down again, the incredibly sappy rest of him wants a kiss. He likes kissing Roman. He likes talking about music with him, enjoys the movie nights they have, is pleased when Roman waves him over in the mess. So, okay, they’re both dorks who want a kiss, but Virgil will _definitely_ break Roman’s fingers if he gets too close. Trauma is fucking terrible, and Virgil is _pissed_ that his stops both of them from having what they so desperately want.

The anger ignites him, and Virgil reaches slowly towards Roman, his palm facing down and fingers lightly curled. When his arm is fully extended he turns his head a little towards Roman and _prays_ that the longing and hope flickering across his face say what the words jammed behind his teeth can’t. Roman’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and his mouth opens as if he wants to ask a question _and dammit fuck Virgil’s entire life this was such a stupid idea he is an awful boyfriend and so fucking awkward and embarrassing._ Right when Virgil has decided to yeet himself into the compost heap behind the base kitchens Roman’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline and he reaches forward and gently clasps Virgil’s hand in both of his own.

He is beaming as he asks, “Virgil, may I kiss you?”

And Virgil nods and hides his face in the hand Roman isn’t clutching like it’s something precious. He can feel Roman’s thumbs tracing across the backs of his fingers, and then Roman’s lips press soft and warm against his knuckles and Virgil has to look, has to see what his boyfriend is doing.

Roman is bent over Virgil’s hand and currently focused on kissing his way across the tops of Virgil’s knuckles, but he glances up and meets Virgil’s stunned gaze with a impish grin of his own. His grin turns considering, and he quietly goes down on one knee while still holding Virgil’s hand. He returns to kissing the back of Virgil’s hand, but his eyes keep flicking to Virgil’s and checking that he is still okay with what is happening. Virgil, for his part, could not look away if his life depended on it. Some distant part of his brain (not utterly enthralled by Roman) is absolutely certain that he could actively be on fire right now and not feel a thing.

Roman draws back a little and starts to rotate the hand he’s holding, his eyes watching and checking in with Virgil the whole time. Virgil just goes with it until his open palm is in front of Roman’s face and Roman is kissing him again, warm lips against the heel of his hand, up over the joint of his thumb, along the inside of his fingers, slow and methodical and absolutely _searing._ All the while Roman’s fingers caress tiny circles against the back of his hand and the inside of his wrist. Virgil’s face is on fire and his whole arm is tingling and his ears are four seconds from burning two holes right through his hoodie. There is the barest whisper of teeth against the calluses of Virgil’s middle finger and fire scorches straight up his arm into the back of his neck. The sound of his own gasp brings him back to himself, back down to earth, back to Roman kneeling at arms length on the concrete floor in the corner beside the mess doorway.

They both pause and breathe for a moment, their eyes locked on each other. Virgil knows he has somewhere he’s supposed to be, and frankly he’s really scraping against today’s limits on human proximity at the moment. But he inches just that tiny bit closer, just bridges the distance between them enough to place his open hand against Roman’s face, cup his jaw and run his thumb gently across the top of Roman’s cheekbone. He draws his thumb back and allows the thumbnail to just catch Roman’s flushed skin, and he feels Roman _shudder_ under his hand. 

And then he pulls back and runs his hands through his hair and swings around on his heel and continues down the corridor to _whatever the hell it is_ he’s supposed to be doing today (rebuilding a jeep maybe?). He looks back over his shoulder, and sees Roman still on one knee in the grey corridor under the stark industrial lights, sheer adoration in his eyes and laughter on his lips.

And if Virgil holds his hand close to his chest, whole body still warm and humming with the memory of Roman’s attention, he won’t tell anyone. He’s always been good at keeping secrets.


	3. Chapter 3

Hours later Virgil is exhausted and reeking of diesel and coolant, but the methodical tasks of the day have settled his mind somewhat and he did make a surprising amount of progress on the vehicles in the workshop, so he actually feels like today has been a net gain for once. He is staggering his way back to the small rec room he knows his nearest and dearest prefer, when he hears excited chatter as he approaches the door.

“-a good cause Logan. I swear!”

At the sound of Roman’s pleading Virgil steps to the side and listens carefully. Boyfriend or not, Virgil needs as much intel as he can possibly get to shut down whatever mad scheme Roman is trying to drag them all into.

“Roman, I fail to see how hacking the base security cameras could possibly be “for a good cause”.”

_Princey what the hell?!!_

“Well you weren’t there this morning! Guys, you should have seen it. Without question the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. You know _I’m_ quite the romantic, and yet he just swept me away! My every nerve is aflame!!! Ah that my soul should dare to hope to match the incandescence of that man’s passion! His eyes-”

Something in Virgil’s heart clenches, and the desolate resignation feels every bit as bitter as he had feared. Roman has finally found someone who loves him. Who _matches_ him. His wit, his fire, his joy and fond regard. Virgil contemplatively runs his fingers over the hand that Roman had held only that morning, the warm tingling still dancing across his skin. This is... fine. He is _fine._ He can be happy for Roman, can still be friends with him, can with every breath in his lungs truly wish him all the joy that’s left in the world. _This fucking sucks._

“-please Logan, Patton, my dear friends you _must_ believe me!”

“Ro, it’s not that we don’t believe you. We just have a hard time imagining Virgil behaving the way you described.”

_what._

“Precisely. Virgil is typically reserved. The conduct you are recounting is expressive beyond even your usually excessive displays.”

_What._

“That’s why I need the security footage! To prove to you both what actually happened between Virgil and I!”

_What? The entire and total fuck???_

“I am not about to help you commit mutiny.”

“All is fair in love and war!”

“Roman, this is literally an armed conflict-”

“You can say “war” Logan.”

“It is not a war, it is a popular uprising instiga-”

“Patton! You would not stand in the way of true love would you?”

“Kiddo-”

“And Logan, you are a man of science! Surely you can understand my drive to present to you the irrefutable proof behind my claims?”

“Roman, you cannot expect me to go along with this simply because you say “For Scienc-”

“FOR SCIENCE!”

“Patton, could you _please_ explain to Roman why I will not be spending my scarce downtime compromising the safety of everyone on this base? Rational arguments are _clearly_ having no effect whatsoever.”

“Kiddo, perhaps if you gave us more detail about what happened, we might have a better picture of why this is so important to you.”

There is silence for a moment and Virgil strains to hear what is happening. When Roman starts speaking again his voice is much more earnest and subdued.

“Virgil let me kiss his hand this morning.”

“Yes you have already told us that multiple times and I fail to see-”

“Logan! Just… let him talk it through, okay? Keep going Ro. Why was that so special?”

“I guess… everyone _knows_ me. Too loud, too soft, too naive Roman Kingsley. We’re at war, and I still cry at  _The Lion King_ . People are dying every day and I’m singing “Someday My Prince Will Come” on top of the mess hall tables. I _know_ what you all say. “Look at Princey, the rebel who dreams he’s royalty!””

“Oh Roman. I’m _so sorry._ We didn’t mean “Princey” like that. It’s wonderful that you can still hope like that when so many of us can’t. It’s not meant to be cruel to you, I promise.”

“I know Pat. But it is a bit of a joke. I mean, almost everyone I knew from back home is gone, and here I am still believing in happy endings and true love. I can’t help it. So I _know_ it’s ridiculous, dreaming and wishing the way I do, with everything that’s happened. But with Virgil, I could actually believe it. When I’m with him… I feel like royalty. And this morning he reached for me and invited me, no, _trusted_ me to be the very very best of myself. He held out his hand to me like I really was a prince. I feel like he sees me. Under the sweat and the greasepaint and the fear he sees _me._ When he looks at me I feel… noble.”

Virgil is cradling his hand to his chest as the warmth of his boyfriend’s words fills him to bursting and rushes out along his arms and up into his ears with a roaring that feels like the wind before a storm. A stray thought floats to the top of his mind, shaken loose by Roman’s words and his own quiet joy. His scars and hurts and determination to live despite them _(courage to let Roman in despite them)_ are all what made this morning happen. No one else could have given Roman this feeling. Perhaps hurt _(healing)_ is not the same as broken. Perhaps he need not choose between being fully himself, and his love.

Virgil steps through the doorway and his three friends turn towards him with smiles and words of welcome. (Virgil knows that he is prepared to die for any number of reasons, but he could stand to live for these three people.) Roman sits on the tattered couch between Patton and Logan with his hands clenched in his lap. There is so much hope in his gaze that Virgil feels he could fly. He reaches for words, and his voice comes out with a soft rasp.

“Hello Princey.”

And Roman’s answering grin is blinding.

  



End file.
